A King Corrupted
by Aelaer
Summary: COMPLETE 'The Lieutenant of the Tower of Baraddûr he was, and his name is remembered in no tale... and he said: I am the Mouth of Sauron.'JRRT. Who is exactly the Mouth of Sauron, and how did he become what he was during the War of the Ring?
1. A Challenge Renewed

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"The Lieutenant of the Tower of Barad-dûr he was, and his name is remembered in no tale; for he himself had forgotten it, and he said: 'I am the Mouth of Sauron.'"-J.R.R. Tolkien, Return of the King, Book Five, Chapter X- The Black Gate Opens.

What if there was one tale that remembered him? What if his true identity is remembered, but the bearer of this identity is thought dead? How exactly did the Lieutenant of Barad-dûr come to be? This tale will tell all that we know, in brief, of the beginnings of corruption and the transformation from good to evil.

A/N: This will be a short, two-chapter tale. It will be based on the Mouth of Sauron, which not many tales tell of. Slightly AU, for this man in the story will not come from the 'Black Númenorean race'. I am aware of the changes made within this short tale.

Appendix A in the Return of the King helped greatly to decipher the dates of the happenings, and the King's personality.

Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings belongs to the Tolkien Estate. This plot belongs to myself, and any elements of the plot that I create are not to be used without permission. I also own Atanamir, and he may not be used without permission.

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Chapter One: A Challenge Renewed

The king took a step back, dodging a blow. The experienced Guard of the Citadel charged again, and the king yet again stepped out of the way. This was much too easy for him.

The king smiled, and tripped the guard, making him fall. Before the guard could regain his position, the king put his sword to his chest, and thus, he was defeated.

The crowd clapped politely for the king's victory. No man that has yet challenged the king has been defeated, and so it seemed it would remain to be so, as the king only accepted challenges from the greatest swordsmen.

King Eärnur smiled, and looked at the soldier on the floor. "Your form is good, but you need to watch your feet," he said smugly, sheathing his sword. The soldier nodded, and stood up. With a bow and a murmured 'congratulations, my lord', he left to his post.

The King Eärnur smiled, looking upon his city. Minas Tirith, just years back known as Minas Anor, was a dazzling sight. Its strong, stone walls guarded any attacks from any enemies. Its white banners flew high in the morning breeze upon the white towers that glittered in the sun like peaks of silver. For just a mere seven years he had been king, and this was not at all a bad beginning to a long and prosperous rule. Though the previous hundreds of years had been grievous with the Kin-strife, the Great Plague, the attacks from Mordor and the South, and the waning of Gondor, perhaps this year, 2050 of the Third Age, perhaps in his realm there would be victories for Gondor.

He walked back to the seventh level of the City of Guard, and to his quarters, where hung many weapons of war that he favored. He put his sword in the correct place, making sure that it was not crooked. He delighted in fighting, or the exercise of arms, and was always the champion of every duel he fought. Not one Man could defeat him.

As he went through his pleasurable thoughts, there was a sharp knock on his door. He swiftly came back to reality, and straightening himself up, he briskly called, "Come in."

In entered his Steward, Mardil, and a Ranger of Ithilien. The young Ranger was torn apart, or so it seemed; his dark hair was unkempt, his clothes were in tatters, and he had many open wounds upon his skin. Eärnur gave both of them an inquiring look.

Mardil bowed. "Forgive me, my lord, for disturbing you, but Atanamir, a Ranger of Ithilien, has an urgent message for you."

Atanamir bowed, and handed the message to Eärnur. It was burned at the sides, and sealed with a black emblem. He took it, and opened it thoughtlessly. It was most likely another Orc attack, or perhaps the Corsairs were trying to usurp part of Gondor in the south.

He at first just glanced at it, but than started to read it slowly and carefully. When he was finished reading it, he looked at Atanamir, speechless. When he regained his voice, he whispered, "How did you receive this, pray tell?"

Atanamir held his breath, and a shadow passed over his face, as if bad memories had risen. Finally, he whispered, "It was about three days ago, in the midst of night. My company and I were scouting the area near the old Minas Ithil, where we were positioned."

Mardil shook his head. "Say not 'Minas Ithil' but 'Minas Morgul', for that place is now only filled with Shadow and fear."

"Forgive me, my lord." He turned back to the king. "It was then when we were assailed by a large company of Orcs, and with them was…" He fell silent, and struggled with his inner self. The king waited impatiently for him to continue. Finally, he whispered, "With them was the Lord of the Nazgûl."

A shadow passed over the young man's face, and the king impatiently waited for him to continue. When he did not, the king said, "Continue."

Atanamir was pulled back into reality. "Forgive me, my lord," he said. "It is a hard thing to speak about. Anyhow, all of the men looked at him with fear, and our horses threw us off of their backs, and fled. Every person of my company was slain, other than I. I tried to flee to tell anyone of this attack, but the Enemy stopped me. They surrounded me, and I prepared for my death around my fallen comrades.

But I was not slain. Instead, the Nazgûl approached me, and handed me that message. He said, 'I have a message for your king, and I bid you to take it to him at once. Now go.' His Orcs made a path for me, and I thought this most certainly a trick. I was frozen in place, and could not move. He screeched at me, and his horse grunted, and with all the speed I could muster, I fled. I have been wandering Ithilien for three days, and I have finally made it here."

Eärnur nodded. He turned to Mardil. "Give him some food and lodgings. He must be grieving for his fallen comrades, and he needs some rest."

"Thank you, my lord. You are too kind," said Atanamir with a bow.

Eärnur waved him off. "It is the least I can do. Thank you for bringing this to me. Now go with Mardil."

They left the king to be alone, and he sat down, rereading the letter over and over. A few minutes later, he was still reading it, and did not hear his door open. He was startled when he heard a voice behind him.

"My lord, what is this message about?" Mardil asked.

Eärnur sighed. He looked up to the Steward, and had a gleam in his eyes. "He has renewed the challenge."

Mardil went pale. Finally, he whispered, "If I may give you my counsel, I would advise you not to take the challenge!"

Eärnur shook his head. "He has mocked me, saying that 'along with thy weak heart, thou hast added the weakness of age'. That, I cannot accept."

"But, my lord," Mardil stammered. "You have no wife, or no child; you cannot leave without an heir!"

"Mardil, I highly doubt that I will perish; I have defeated thus far every man who has challenged me, and this is no exception. He challenged me ere seven years ago, and you held me back. He has mocked me much too far! I am the King of Gondor, and no one shall ridicule me and live!"

Mardil realized that he could nothing to hold the king back. He bowed, and said, "When will you be leaving?"

Eärnur looked at the scroll again. "I will leave in three days time," he said. "I will bring only a small escort, as we cannot spare that many. You will be in charge, until I return."

Mardil nodded. "As you say, my lord." With that, he left the room.

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King Eärnur now rode on the borders of Ithilien, close to Minas Morgul. It has been six days since he had received the message from the Witch-king, and he had ridden out from Minas Tirith three days past. For the last three days he had rode with a company of about thirty knights of Minas Tirith, including Atanamir, at a leisurely speed, full of confidence.

It was mid morning, and they were approaching Minas Morgul. They started coming upon dead, burned stumps that used to be towering trees, and the stream they were following slowed to a trickle, and altogether stopped.

Finally, they saw Minas Morgul in the distance. Just years ago it was a beautiful white tower, flowering with many trees and flowers, and beneath a lovely bridge there was a clear stream with animals and people alike drawing their water from it's banks. Now, the tower was under a shadow, making the stained white walls look dark and menacing. The trees were uprooted, the flowers were dead, and all signs of living were gone. The stream that used to flow underneath the bridge was gone, and in its place were growing thorny, mutated shrubs.

His company reached the bridge, and they stopped, as if uncertain on whether to go forward or not. The horses were tense, trying to turn back to the west.

The king waited impatiently, wondering if the Witch-king were just a coward, and was not to come forth. After many moments of waiting, he decided that his challenger was hesitant against facing him, decided himself yet another victory, and turned to go back to Minas Tirith.

Suddenly, the doors of Minas Morgul opened, and out he rode at a trot, very calm. He went to the middle of the bridge, and the guards felt as if he were smirking at them, as if he had a dark, dirty secret. They became afraid, and on fear, turned around to ride away.

Behind them were hundreds of Orcs, who had crawled out from their hiding places in the mountains. The guards yelled in dismay, and, unsheathing their swords, they fought off the oncoming enemy as well as could be done.

Atanamir was beside the king as they fought. He guarded his lord as well as the young Ranger could, mercilessly killing any enemy that came by.

But they were outnumbered. Soon, all but Eärnur, Atanamir, and three other guards stood standing. With all the strength they could muster, Atanamir and the three others fought against the Orcs, defending their king as well as possible. Finally, all were slaughtered. When Atanamir was struck through the abdomen, he realized that he was the last one standing to defend his king, and with a muttered apology, he fell to the ground, dead.

All his Men lay about him. Eärnur realized his foolishness to accept the challenge, seeing that it was all a trap to lead him to his death. He saw the Lord of the Nazgûl approaching him, and knew that this was the end.

He came upon him, and Eärnur stood straight, prepared to meet his doom. Instead of being stabbed, as he expected, the Witch-king's darkness swallowed him up, and he fell to the ground, unconscious.


	2. Memories

A/N: I thank you for all of your reviews. Hope you enjoy this last installment of this tale.

Remember, this is slightly AU, and a couple of the statements mentioned are false or altered. I realize any alterations that I make.

This might contain RotK spoilers, though I am not positive.

Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings belongs to the Tolkien Estate. This plot belongs to myself, and any elements of the plot that I create are not to be used without permission. Some quotes are used from Tolkien's Return of the King, Book Five, Chapter X: The Black Gate Opens.

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Chapter Two: Memories

The large gates opened with large creaking, and with much toil. He ordered the army to be hidden from view as the Gate opened, and, with a small band of Orcs with him, he rode out, filled with confidence. The Enemies would be in for quite a surprise. Fools they were, thinking they could outmatch the power of Sauron the Great, Lord of the Earth.

He looked upon the army, and deemed there were less than six thousand Men. He smirked, not thinking it would be this easy to defeat them. Their last attempt to overthrow his lord was laughable, and he pitied them. It would have been so much easier just to give in to Sauron's power, just like he did.

He ordered his small band to halt, and he rode up to the Captains of the West, stopping a few paces in front of them. In front of him were nine people on seven horses; an old man, garbed in white and with a staff; obviously a wizard, riding a pure white horse. To the wizard's left, riding a chestnut brown, was a Man; he wore the symbol of the White Tree of Gondor, and a piece of Elvish glass was pinned to his breast. This was obviously the supposed King of Gondor. Next to him, on a white horse, sat both an Elf and a Dwarf, looking quite comical to him.

To the wizard's right there was a blonde haired Man, who rode a great steed; ah, he was from the country of Rohan, supposedly the king… but had not the king been much older? To that Man's right were two people upon a horse; another Man, obviously from one of the small countries from the south, and a Halfling from the Shire. Behind the wizard were two Elves who looked exactly alike; they were dark haired, and looked full of wisdom.

Once he had studied all of them, he laughed. "Is there anyone in this rout with authority to treat with me, the Lieutenant of Mordor, the Mouth of Sauron?" he asked. "Or indeed with wit to understand me? Not thou at least!" The Mouth of Sauron turned to the Man, who was supposedly the King of Gondor. "It needs more to make a king than a piece of Elvish glass, or a rabble such as this. Why, any brigand of the hills can show as good a following!"

The Man said naught in answer, but instead looked at the Mouth of Sauron in the eyes, and they held each other's glances.

As the Mouth of Sauron gazed into the Man's eyes, he saw images flash before him.

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Upon the cold stone floor knelt a Man. He was stripped to the waist, and many whiplashes could be seen upon his back. He was dirty, famished, and weary. Above him stood a Shadow, veiled in black; it had a shrill, menacing voice.

"So, would you rather serve Sauron the Great, Lord of the Earth, or suffer in misery and woe for the rest of your life, deep within the dungeons of Barad-dûr?"

The Man had an inner argue within himself. Finally, he whispered, "What would you have me do, my lord?"

The Shadow laughed, and the Man looked down, crestfallen, defeated. Nearby, two Orcs went away, though hurriedly whispering with one another.

"That went easier than expected," said one.

"Some king of Men," said the other with a cruel laugh.

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As Aragorn looked into the Mouth of Sauron's eyes, he saw something quite unexpected. Beneath the fiery red glow and the black hate, there was something in those eyes… something similar to his. He did not know what made it similar to his, or why there was a hidden similarity, but there was no doubt that it was there. He looked into them deeper, and saw beneath the cruelty and power pain, torture, and defeat. These expressions troubled him, but he still held his gaze.

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More things flashed in front of the Mouth of Sauron's eyes. What was all of this?! Were these… memories? Why did they come now? Why did they come when he looked into the Man's eyes?

He saw images of pain and torture. He saw the whip, the starvation, the agony, the defeat.

Next, he saw victory, and power. He saw immortality… to stay alive forever; with a price. To be withering away, yet never to die. To serve on the side of darkness, but to be great in power! To refuse, and to live in agony for the rest of your long years.

He chose the side of darkness, the side of evil… for power. He chose to give in, and to be beaten down… like a coward. He was once on the side of good, but the greed for power, and the cowardice of dying in agony changed him into what he was today.

The Mouth of Sauron could not bear it any longer. He turned his head away, and did dare not look into the Man's eyes again. He dare not look into the King of Gondor's eyes, for in those eyes, he saw something familiar; he saw himself as he once was. He saw his heir, only he was no coward, and was not greedy; and with those elements, Aragorn son of Arathorn defeated the Mouth of Sauron, once known as Eärnur son of Eärnil, Last King of Gondor.

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A/N: I hope you enjoyed. This was my birthday present to you; for on Hobbit birthdays, they give out presents, not receive them. I am turning 14 on the 30th, if any of you wished to know.

RESPONSE TO REVIEWS:

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Aislynn Crowdaughter: Thank you! It came while I was writing another tale (ironically), and it became this! ^-^ Hope you enjoyed the last installment!

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Mirielle: Oh, I did, didn't I? Yea, I meant no man had yet won when they challenged the king… gr… Well, thank you!

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Steelsheen: Yes, according to the appendices, no one knows what happened to him, and it was assumed that he suffered in the dungeons of Barad-dur… not in my tale! ;-) You never really think of small nit-picks such as that, so, with things as such, you can create small tales, like this ^^ Almost as if the tale came from Tolkien himself? Wow, I am stunned! Thank you, and hopefully you enjoyed this last piece!

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Bulehen: Hopefully you enjoyed this last installment! :-)

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Rachel: You understood it?! YAY! *claps for her best bud* Congrats! :-P Hope you enjoyed this last installment!

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Ode2Joy: Thank you! Hopefully you enjoyed this last installment!

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Lindsey: Glad you enjoyed! ^^


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